


It's Always Been Him

by ElReyCiervo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Prompt Fill, RK17cember, Rescue, Soft Upgraded Connor | RK900, android interfacing, hand holding, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElReyCiervo/pseuds/ElReyCiervo
Summary: (A prompt collection fic for the RK1700 December event!) No matter the situation, universe, or circumstances, they always end up slotting together in one way or another.[OR]31 prompts of Nines and Connor just being together.
Relationships: Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900
Comments: 21
Kudos: 53
Collections: RK1700 December 2020





	1. Secret Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human
> 
> Rating: G 
> 
> Words: 2,714
> 
> Notes: I am very excited to work on this project! I’ve never done a month-long writing project before, so I am looking forward to writing the prompts for RK1700 December! My goal is to actually get through the whole month, so each chapter/prompt will be shorter than what I normally write. 
> 
> Each chapter will have different warnings and ratings depending on the content. As not to clog the fic info with a million tags, please read the warnings (if applicable) that I write for each chapter. I always have warnings if they are needed, but they will be especially important as the ratings will vary for the different prompts. 
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Prompts: 1) Meeting, 2) Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has been sneaking away quite an awful lot lately, and his coworkers finally find out why.

It was relatively easy sneaking away from his coworkers during and after his shifts when he truly put his processors to it. All he had to do was treat it like a mission. He always accomplished his mission.

Simple.

What was not so simple, was doing so when many of his coworkers (Tina, Ben, and Chris) were incredibly nosy and wanted to know where he had been off to. He knew they meant well, but he was doing his utmost to not let them know for a reason.

“Are you okay, Connor?” Tina asked the next morning when she saw him in the breakroom. “You left pretty quick after your shift without saying anything. And that’s not the first time either. Catch a bug or virus or something?” Her brow was pinched slightly in concern, and he could see how her hand twitched, restraining herself from lifting her arm to place her hand on his forehead. Perhaps he had not been as stealthy as he thought…

From his place by the coffee machine, Ben gestured to Connor. “I think I’ve seen Gavin more than I’ve seen you, which is saying something considering Gavin tries his hardest not to get stuck at his desk.”

He appreciated the concern and worry about his wellbeing, but he felt guilt ripple through his code about making them do so unnecessarily. He turned his mug of thirium in his hands. “I apologize for making you all worry so much,” he took a large gulp, feeling better as his levels began to increase. “It was not my intention. I have just had, ah, t-things to do.”

If either of them suspected anything from a state-of-the-art android’s best word to come up with being ‘things’, they did not say anything about it. _Tactful, Connor_. Thank rA9, because he was holding back the very human urge to slap his forehead.

Tina blinked as she took a bite of her pastry. She hid her hand behind her mouth as she continued to chew and said, “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say these things are time-sensitive?”

“…Yeees.” Technically, he was not lying.

The coffee machine finally filled Ben’s mug with coffee, and the man took a long, much needed drink. It was a little after eight in the morning, and most of the human officers in the precinct were either on their way out to go home and sleep or trudging in, still shaking off the last dregs of sleep. Ben, as alert as he was, still looked like he needed another few hours of rest. Connor was always amazed by just how much humans were dictated by coffee. “Well, just make sure you don’t break one of your legs with how fast you’ve been skedaddling out of here,” Ben said. 

“Understood,” was the automatic reply. A pained expression passed over his features; he shook his head. “I mean, I will not. Thank you for your concern.” He was trying to get out of the habit of giving formal replies when he was with his coworkers. An android he may be, but he wanted more…organic relationships with his coworkers rather than the command-and-reply habit he had as a machine.

They waved him off. “No worries. Now, what are you and Hank going to be working on today? I want to get ahead of the rumor mill.”

He smiled as he brought up his newest case. Facts were straightforward and safe to talk about, easy to relay. “Although this is not a homicide case—I am relieved to say—as Hank and I are more experienced in android-related situations, we have the most interesting situation of…”

Connor took his lunch break around one in the afternoon. He told Hank that he had a personal matter to attend to and that he would return in time for his shift. His friend had only lifted an eyebrow, but did not say much other than, “Don’t slip on any ice. We don’t need a dent in that fancy, expensive head.” This was not the first time that Connor had used his lunch break to go somewhere separate from Hank.

It took him about 8.7 minutes to walk—he may have powerwalked in his excitement—to the café. He arrived at _Sally’s Sweet Treats_ with plenty of time to spare. The café was one that tailored to both human and android needs, one of the few eateries in the area that did so. When he entered, his optics performed a brief scan of the interior, searching for the person he would be seeing. One second passed, then two, and he finally saw who he was looking for. He walked around a few tables, sidestepped around a one or two patrons who had been pushing out their chairs to stand up, and made his way to a little booth in the back corner of the café. He got to the table and the person he was meeting with looked up from his drink.

The RK900, Nines, gave him a small, though genuine smile. “It is good to see you again, Connor.” His blue optics, though appearing cold upon first glance, shone bright with a warmth that was privy to very few people, Connor being the main person. His hair was a few shades darker than his, just this side of black-brown. The light coming in from the café windows shone on his dotted, pale face, accentuating his features and giving a glow about him. The light also made his white long jacket look that much brighter, contrasting against the deep black of his turtleneck. (Connor could stare at this man all day if he so desired.)

Connor’s pump skipped a beat. He blinked and realized his internal chronometer had skipped a few seconds already.

“Nines,” he smiled back. He slid into the seat next to him and pressed a chaste kiss against his cheek. They were seated at a little corner booth, so they were able to sit right next to one another. “It is always wonderful to see you as well. It is the highlight of my day whenever I can.”

“How has your day been thus far?” Nines asked as he slid Connor a thirium muffin.

The RK800 gladly accepted the pastry. However, since his cup of thirium he drank earlier had leveled him out, he broke it in half and have the other half back to Nines. He did not need the whole thing. “It has been…interesting, thank you. Detective Reed has been playing nice this morning, which I am assuming means he is trying to get something.” He picked off a few of the ‘blueberries’ from the muffin and began placing them in a little pile to eat them. “He did not even insult the Lieutenant.”

Nines hummed, watching Connor’s growing blueberry pile. “That is Hank Anderson, correct?”

“Yes.”

“That seems like a feat considering what you have told me about those two.”

“Indeed.” Connor put reached out his hand on the table towards Nines, inching ever closer. His fingers gently slid over the other’s, and in return, Nines’s hand opened in welcome. Nines’s fingers slotted with Connor’s like a properly fitting puzzle piece. They had been meeting during Connor’s lunch breaks at least a few times a week for several weeks now, but moments like this would always make him feel so light. Nines’s hand was strong in his. He squeezed and received a squeeze back. “Will you tell me about your day? How have you been?”

His successor rubbed a thumb over one of Connor’s knuckles. Connor tried not to focus on that, but instead on what Nines was saying. “I have been continuing my wire sculptures. Depending on the thickness of the wire, some bend rather easily while others take a little work. I enjoy working the material.” After he had been found by Jericho, Nines had been wandering without much of a purpose. Markus had suggested art, and while painting and drawing had not appealed to the RK900, metalworking had. Thus far, he had created a dozen small, though intricate wire sculptures. Connor knew this because Nine often sent him pictures of them when he completed them. “I have to admit, I have been feeling apprehensive as of late.”

Connor frowned and gave Nines’s hand another squeeze. “Apprehensive? Whatever for?”

Nines was quiet for a minute, collecting his thoughts. “I have a meeting with Captain Fowler next week. I am…concerned as to how it will go. I…” he broke off in a rare, irritated grumble. He disengaged the synthskin from his hand for an interface. Connor let his own synthskin melt away from his hand. 

[Interface Request: _RK900 313-248-317_Nines_ ]

[Accept | Deny]

[ **Accept** | Deny]

Feelings of _worry, anxiety, concern, concern, apprehension, nervousness_ came flooding through the interface. Connor took a breath—he did not expect that Nines had been feeling _that_ bad—and sent his own emotions through the interface. _Understanding, comfort, comfort, love, understanding_. Without verbally saying so, he exchanged a few memories with Nines: his first few weeks at the DPD after the revolution, to show he understood the fears that Nines was holding, and several memories of each of his coworkers, to show how they behaved.

Nines bent his head and kissed the side of Connor’s forehead, just above his LED. “Thank you, Eights.” He closed the interface, but did not remove his hand from Connor’s.

Connor blinked. _Eights?_ He had not heard Nines call him that before. He hid a smile behind his free hand as something warm blossomed in his core. 

“Apologies,” Nines fretted, pulling back slightly, “is that acceptable to call you? Have I overstepped?”

“Not at all. I was simply not expecting it.” Connor moved his hand from his mouth to show him his smile, “I like it.”

They spent the rest of Connor’s available lunch hour talking about various subjects. More about Nines’s sculptures, the weird but typical drama of the DPD, Sumo, the musician down the street who had set up camp on the corner, and more. As much as Connor wanted to extend this time for as long as possible, he did have to get back to work. He sighed, reluctance present in every one of his movements in getting up from the booth. “I have to leave now if I am going to make it back to my shift in time. I would rather not hear Detective Reed complaining that I took a longer lunch than he did.”

Nines also stood, though a little slower than Connor. “I understand, although I wish you could stay.”

They walked outside the café, hanging a little by corner of the café out of the way from door traffic. Nines reached out a finger to hook his with Connor’s. Their optics met and suddenly everything around Connor except Nines disappeared. They leaned in close, Nines tipping his head to one side and Connor to the other. Their lips met, soft over their plastimetal chassis. A sigh escaped Connor. He reached around to lay one of his hands on the small of Nines’s back, and he felt a hand rest on the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the short hairs. Time seemed to stretch, multiplying this moment by magnitudes. A small, soft noise came from Nines—Connor committed it to his memory banks. He pressed himself further into the other, and parted his lips slightly to—

“So _this_ is why you’ve been sneaking around!”

Nines and Connor launched themselves apart from one another, and Connor felt his face flush almost immediately. Next to him, Nines looked as if he wanted to disassemble himself right there, tools or no tools. His pump skipped in his chest as he saw Tina, Ben, and Chris staring at him with varying degrees of surprise.

It was in the moment that he wanted to damn his own sophisticated systems. His processor was going through almost every possible scenario and it was sending his thoughts to many negative places. _Oh rA9, what were they going to say?_ Would they be disturbed that Nines looked similar to him? Would they think Connor was weird for dating an android like him? Would they no longer speak to him at work when they found out that Nines was meant to originally replace him? Even worse came to mind—Would they harm Nines to protect Connor when they found out he was Connor’s successor?

“C-Chris!” Connor wrung his hands together at the waist. “I thought you were on patrol?”

“Ooo, who’s this good-looking guy, here?!” Tina smiled as she looked between the two androids.

Chris grinned at him. “I was, but Tina and Ben here wanted to grab some lunch. We heard good things about this café, so we wanted to try it.”

Tina looked as if she was about to burst into hundreds of other questions, but Ben had a little more control of himself. Before she could go through a session of Twenty Questions—Connor had been on the receiving end of this before and did not want to experience it again—Ben stepped forward and offered up a hand. “I see you’re someone special to Connor. Ben Collins, nice to meet you.”

Nines, frozen in place, looked at the hand that was offered to him and then back to Ben. He then looked at Connor for guidance, appearing terribly lost and shocked about the whole thing. Still in a state of minor shock of his own, Connor just gestured his head towards Ben. Shaking himself of his stupor, Nines shook Ben’s hand. “Greetings, Officer Collins. I am RK900, designation Nines.”

Once Ben had pulled back, Tina rushed forward and gabbed Nines’s hand with both of her own, startling him. She shook it up and down vigorously, offering him a bright smile. “I am sure glad to meet the guy that’s been making Connor sneak away like a ninja whenever he can! Tina Chen, but just call me Tina. And this guy over here,” she jerked a thumb at Chris, “is Chris. Not as cool as me, but plenty cool enough.”

“…It…it is nice to meet you, Officer Chen.” Formalities were going to be hard to break.

Chris rolled his eyes and shook hands with Nines once Tina was done. “Chris Miller. Nice to meet you, man.”

“Likewise, Officer Miller.”

Chris continued, “Have to say, didn’t think Connor was sneaking around to meet with his secret boyfriend.” It was here that the man grinned at Connor and shot him a wink. The android in mention felt a great weariness fall over him as he knew he was not going to hear the end of it when they all got back to the precinct.

Putting his own dread aside, Connor came to Nines’s rescue. “As I said to Tina and Ben earlier, I did not mean to cause worry. I just…was not ready to tell anyone that I was in a relationship.”

Ben lightly slapped Connor on the back and chuckled at him, though not in a mocking way. It was at times like this that Connor appreciated how easy-going the older man was. “Hey, it’s no problem. Not everyone likes to announce their love life like Tina here.”

“I’ll have you know I am proud of my girlfriend, and I would shout it from the rooftops if I could!”

As Nines watched their exchange, the tension visibly drained from his body. Although still standing rather stiffly—his discomfort with social situations (especially surprise ones like this) was not one he could overcome in a short period of time—the shocked air around him dissipated. While not one for fidgeting like Connor, he folded his hands behind his back. A looser version of a parade rest. “You all seem like pleasant people. Meeting some of my future coworkers puts me at ease. A pleasure.” As soon as he said it, he seemed to have realized _what_ he said because he closed his optics and sighed to the sky.

Both him and Connor let out a low _‘Damn’_ under their breaths, inaudible to human ears.

A moment passed over all of them as they realized what he had said.

One beat, then two, then—

_“Coworkers?!”_

Connor groaned. Looks like he was going to be late coming back from his lunch break.

* * *

Published: 12/1/20


	2. Take You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines gets kidnapped, and it's a stressful, frightening time for everyone until he is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Words: 1,170
> 
> Warnings: kidnapping, android disassembly, restraints
> 
> Prompts: 3) Vulnerable, 4) Broken/Damaged, 6) Comfort
> 
> This might be the shortest thing I’ve ever written, lol

_How long…has it been?_

_What…what is the day?_

His processors felt sluggish and his optics felt heavy. Nothing in his systems seemed to want to function as per their intended purpose. His internal chronometer had been knocked offline ever since he was taken, and there were neither clocks (analogue or digital) nor windows to give him any clues to the time. Between that and everything else they had done to him, he was neither certain the day or the hour.

The cold air of room was prominently felt. They had…they had opened up his cranium when they took him, attached various wires and cords to it. He shivered, feeling cold like he never had before.

Reinforced restraints bolted his forehead, arms, torso, and legs to the chair he was held in. Small cords trailed from his exposed cranium while a larger, thicker one was plugged into the port in the back of his neck. Every few minutes, he could feel something worming in his code—it felt disgusting. Every few minutes in-between that, he felt emptier and emptier as they were taking… _something_ from him. How many files had they taken from him? There was a panel opened on the side of his abdomen. Out of the edge of his periphery, he could see a snake camera worming into it, and the image it projected could be seen on one of the screens on the wall. On the screen was a live image of his reinforced spine. The panels in his forearms were wide open and all of his hidden weaponry were on display, pulled out to be seen like the various multi-tools of a Swiss army knife. He could not move even if he wanted to, and he tried to set aside the ever-rising panic that was welling inside of him. Could androids have panic attacks?

Although his kidnappers were gone presently, they had been in and out too many times. Invasive hands touching all over him, reaching _inside_ of him as if he were an experiment to be studied—he hated it. He hated this. They had touched wires inside of him that sent shudders coursing through his body, had tugged at lines that made foreign, uncomfortable sensations pass through him. 

He felt exposed and vulnerable in a way that made him want to—that made him want to… _cry_.

_Connor, help…_

Connor’s stress levels felt like they were skyrocketing.

He knew they were driving as fast as they safely could, but he felt like he was about to vibrate out of his chassis. With his nerves the way they were, he was grateful that Hank offered to drive. They were going nearly seventy miles per hour down the freeway, sirens screeching into the warm night.

“We’re gonna get him,” Hank said next to him. His grip was tight on the steering wheel, a testament that he too was trying his best to stay together. “We found him, and now all we have to do is rescue him, take him home.”

 _That is easier said than done_.

Nines had been missing for three weeks. He had been on his way home from the local art center with two friends he had made from his sculpture class. When the police had arrived on the scene, the two women—Angelique and Euniqua—were being patched up in the back of the ambulances for minor scrapes and bruises with Nines had been nowhere to be seen. When the women were done being cared for, they had told Connor and Hank that a group dressed in black with guns and military-looking outfits had jumped them that night. They had taken the women hostage in order to get Nines to stand down. When he had done so, they had slammed something on the back of his neck, which literally shocked him into a forced stasis. Before being shoved away, they had seen him being loaded into an electrician’s van. The men _had not_ been electricians.

The DPD, through days upon days of searching, had discovered Nines had been taken by a black-market group that aligned itself with the military. Nines had originally been made for military uses, and it had looked like there had been some people that wanted him back through illegal means. Study him first, then disassemble and reassemble him to be used for their purposes.

Connor had needed to be put under a sedative’s code that night. He had been close to self-destructing from pure stress and anxiety alone, not to mention the unprecedented fear that had rattled his lung components in his chassis. It had not been pretty. Chris had needed to hold him in a chair while Hank had needed to force a drive with the code into one of his ports.

Now, he was trying to do his best to keep calm.

It was only going half successfully.

“And take him home,” he agreed. _Nines, please hold on just a little while longer. Please._

His optics were offline.

There were fingers digging into his wires.

There were wired clamps biting into his cranium.

There were indecipherable voices talking around him.

They were loud.

And then they were silent.

It was quiet, and then there was noise once again. He could hear more voices, though not as loud as the other ones had been. His audio processors were on the decline. What was once clear was now muddled, staticky and confusing to process.

There were hands touching him once again, and this time he could not hold back a flinch. He could feel them adjusting the restraints that held him, but they were…loosening them? Had his kidnappers come to dissemble him? Take him away? _No, stop…_

[Interface Request: _RK800 313-248-317_Connor_ ]

_Connor?_

_This was Connor?_

[Accept | Deny]

[ **Accept** | Deny]

 _Relief, fear, exhaustion, relief, relief_ —it all came rushing in through the interface. Nines gasped, overwhelmed by the sheer relief he felt when he felt everything that was Connor. He was here, he was here—Nines thought he would never see his predecessor again. Although he had wanted to cry earlier, the tears began to flow freely right in this moment, quickly wetting his cheeks. _[Connor, you…here…here.]_

A bit of a useless endeavor as they kept falling, Connor wiped away his tears with a gentle thumb. Nines felt his own body shuddering, emotions he was not equipped to handle all coming to the surface. _[I am here, I am here, Nines. My dear Nines. I am so sorry I could not get here sooner. I am here now, though, and I promise you are going to be okay.]_ He felt the restraint holding back his head fall away, then felt his head being carefully guided against a familiar, clothed chest; the back of his head was cradled by an arm as the arm drew him closer. 

He hid his face into Connor’s shirt, shaking. Although not quite sobs, he let out everything he had into the other’s chest.

_[I am here to take you home. Let us go home, now.]_

* * *

Published: 12/3/20

A/N: Thank you to everyone who had given this fic kudos so far, and a big thanks to **Conanbean** , **Phrensiedom** , and **Melanie ajaj** 🌻 for commenting on the last chapter!


	3. Deviated Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines contemplates on his origins, and who truly is the superior one between the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Words: 836
> 
> Prompts: 5) Superior/Replacement, 7) Machine
> 
> Another short chapter, so I hope I did it the justice you guys want. Enjoy!

RK900 had been meant to replace the RK800 known as Connor.

That was his original purpose, a machine.

He had been built by CyberLife to take his position, and to be contracted out to the military. He had been outfitted with the most advanced systems to date, had been built with the best materials available, and equipped with the deadliest, most effective weapons created thus far.

It was a fact that he was the superior model of the RK Connor line.

As soon as he had been booted online, he had been ready to take his position as the successor and replacer. It was simply factual that the RK800 Connor had no longer been effective to carry out his duties and that he was slated to be decommissioned. He had held no knowledge of the location of the other RK900 models—all he was aware of was that they had been dispersed to different areas of the country. He himself had been waiting underneath the lowest levels of the CyberLife building for his order to be guided toward his new position.

He had been waiting for a long time. Two months, six days, fifteen hours, thirty-seven minutes, and fifty-eight seconds to be precise. People from the deviant faction of Jericho, along with their leader, the RK200 known as Markus, had found him covered in a thin layer of dust. His mission objective had not been to capture the RK200 or the other Jericho members, so he let the inferior androids buzz around him as they pleased. They had asked him many questions, argued over what to do with him, and generally fretted what he had deemed useless at the time.

And then he had met the RK800, Connor, face to face for the first time.

Connor had spoke to him unlike the others, the tone behind his voice softer and more genuine. It had confused RK900. Did the RK800 not know that he was meant to be decommissioned and replaced with RK900? However, even in the midst of his great confusion, there was an overwhelming sense of what he, in the future, would define as wonder and awe. Connor’s face was similar to his, he slightly lighter hair, and his optics more open and inviting. Just a scant shorter, the RK800 was less intimidating than the RK900. It had been fascinating. At the time, he had been so curious as to how his predecessor could appear so tame in comparison to him.

In a motion spurred by something he had not understood, RK900 had reached out a hand. The other androids in the room had tensed, assuming that he had been about to attack Connor. The RK800, on the other hand, had not moved. RK900 had touched his face and then his shoulder, movements slow as he observed the other android.

RK900 may have been built as the superior android, but looking at Connor in that moment, he had realized that there were many things that escaped his understanding. There had been no more CyberLife, so he had been left without a mission. What was his purpose, then?

RK900, the machine, had followed Connor out of the building out of a need for a purpose and an ever-growing curiosity with his predecessor.

Nines, the deviant, continued to follow Connor out of devotion and, later, love.

If he were to surmise his existence thus far, Nines was a deviant who had a fairly good life. His job kept him occupied and allowed him to help people, he enjoyed his time with his coworkers, he had good friends, and he had an amazing partner who loved him with every servo and cable in his body. (It was still impossible for Nines to believe.) Sitting here with Connor, seeing that smile beaming _at him_ , feeling that deft hand in _his hand_ … Nines was happy that he did not replace Connor. A world without Connor would have most certainly been a world darker—one that Nines would not want to live within. In his mind, Connor was the superior one—much better at social interactions, brighter in personality, warmer in his general spirit. People liked him more than Nines as he was much more personable. Nines, however—with his subpar social relations program, his trouble expressing himself (especially his face), and his difficulty with his intonation—made people uncomfortable.

Connor nudged him with a shoulder and looked up at him on the couch, “Is everything alright?” His optics were a warm brown and the weight of them looking at him made his pump beat faster. When he looked at him like that and was pressed up against him on the couch like this…it made Nines feel like he was not just a soulless machine.

He kissed his forehead. “Everything is just fine, my Eights.”

Connor may have a had a head start in experience. But that just meant that Nines would simply have to continue loving him and catch up.

He had the rest of their lives to do so. 

* * *

Published: 12/8/20

A/N: Thanks again to everyone who has been adding this to their faves and giving it kudos. And an extra big thanks to **Melanie ajaj 🌻** and **CionAltima** who commented on the last chapter!


	4. Oh Nothing, I Just Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor thinks about the physical differences between him and Nines, but the conclusion is that he just loves him because of those differences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Words: 1,270
> 
> Prompts: 8) Hands, 12) Dissimilarity 
> 
> If you guys haven’t been able to tell by now from my other fics and chapters, hand touches are such a love language for me. Cue soft and tender hand holding and hand touches <3 (Also, sorry if there are any typos, I kinda sped through this one.)

“Wow, you two sure do look alike! Guess you can say you love yourself, huh?”

That was not the first time Connor had heard a stranger comment this to him, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

For how many times people said that Nines and Connor looked similar, it often struck him that they just did not know how to look past the at-a-glance details. On the surface, he could admit that they certainly looked very similar. Same pale complexion, mole-dotted skin, and hairstyle—they were both tailored to appear in this way. Nines was modeled after Connor, so it only made sense that they shared resemblances. However, although Connor had no shame in his own appearance and found Nines to be beautiful all on his own, he was tired of hearing many of the comments people made about them.

About Connor, he had heard them say he was no longer original or unique, that Nines was clearly the “improved” version of him.

About Nines, he had heard that the RK900 was just a copy of him, that Connor was the “classic” original version and had no uniqueness of his own.

Both examples were wildly inaccurate.

He wished that people saw what he did. In the private moments between the two of them, they could be with one another without the comments and scrutiny of others. Nines’s hair, although close to his color, was darker than his—about two or three shades depending on the light, if Connor were to be specific. He loved that color on him, deep and rich like the darkest soil of the fertile soil Nines liked to use for his plants. Unlike the brown optics that stared back at him when he looked in the mirror, Connor loved Nines’s brilliant blue ones. Nines could pierce someone with a look from those optics, cold like ice. If someone were to pay close attention, they would also be able to see that they could burn with passion, drive, and sometimes anger, bright and energized like cobalt fire.

When they held hands in private, they both liked to deactivate the synthskin from their hands, letting it fade away like ink. On the surface, their hands looked about ninety eight percent similar: same skin color, moles, and size. But, once their synthskin faded away, the physical differences between the two grew more prominent. Although he was—or rather, had been—the most advanced android built by CyberLife at the time, Connor had been created with a similar build to regular androids. Better materials, but similar white and light gray colors. Advanced systems, but same buildline patterns. He was sophisticated, but all his advancements were internal. In contrast, when Nines was created to be the best CyberLife had to offer, even his external hardware had been changed to be better than his predecessor in addition to his software. His social integration programs had been deemed not as important, and as a result, his default facial expression was flat. His optics had been upgraded, and they could glow in the dark—the image of bright cobalt blue flames came to Connor’s mind again. The biggest physical difference, however, was between their chassis.

This, Connor knew, was one of Nines’s biggest self-consciousnesses.

The two of them were alone, now, home from work. It had been a long day. Connor was thankful for their coworkers who did their best to direct android haters away from them, but they were only human. To make a long story short, Connor and Nines were exhausted dealing with hateful humans. The hateful people may have been guided (read: booted) out of the precinct, but the hateful comments had still been said. Still stored in their memory banks. In the safety of their home, away from judging eyes, they could be themselves. In casual clothes—dark lounge pants and a casual long-sleeve shirt for Nines and a soft cream oversized hoodie and navy-colored shorts for Connor—they laid next to each other on their bed. The television was on, an episode of _How It’s Made_ was playing. As androids, they could simply download the show and ingest it in an instant, but there was something calming about watching it the “classic” way. Additionally, this show was one of their favorites: it was repetitive enough to have something to focus on, but not put all of their attention into, and was interesting in that they could see all the different methods how myriads of items could be created. As Hank would say, it was their “background tv show.”

Connor was not focusing on the television with his entirety, but that was okay. Neither of them felt like talking, so simply listening and watching how plushies were created and leaning into one another was enough. He could see Nines was paying attention to the television, so Connor took the opportunity to look at their joined hands. Alone in their home, they liked to hold hands without their synthskin. Although most of Connor’s hand was covered by the sleeve of his oversized hoodie, his fingers peeked through, white and gray chassis exposed. His fingers clasped with Nines’s own who had his own chassis exposed. Because he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows Connor could see the build of Nines’s chassis clear as day.

Unlike Connor’s chassis, Nines was a deep black that reflected light like shiny onyx. The materials they made him with were military-grade and industrially reinforced, giving him that black color. Connor’s light fingers contrasted sharply with Nines’s dark ones, but he thought that contrast was beautiful. Fingers clasped like they were, he could see the bend of Nines’s knuckles (steel-tipped for greater damage in combat) and the incredibly deep buildlines (panels underneath his build). Connor’s optics trailed up from their hands to Nines’s forearm. He mentally traced the buildlines from his fingers to his wrist to the ones in his forearm. He knew there was a panel on the top of his forearm that, when opened, released a mantis-folded long curved blade. His inner forearm hid other various smaller weapons that could be changed out. Small blades, plasma weapons, mini saws, and a specially outfitted gun in each arm were among some of the weapons that Nines could use. Saying that Nines was not dangerous would have been a lie. Connor knew that he was, just like Nines knew that Connor was. Nevertheless, that did not make Connor afraid of Nines, not in the slightest.

Nines did not like to think about how deadly he could be, even if he was acutely aware of it.

Both of them knew what it was like to be a tool, to be a weapon.

Without disturbing the comfortable quiet between them, he squeezed Nines’s hand. It grabbed Nines’s attention who looked over with question in his face. “Is there something on your mind, Eights?” Even with such a simple question, his optics held so much care.

Connor smiled. He lifted his free hand to cup against one of Nines’s cheeks and drew him in closer. His partner was clearing expecting a kiss on the lips, but Connor decided to change it up a little and press a silly, loud kiss on his nose.

A small laugh was startled out of the taller man, who in return, rubbed his nose against Connor’s. “Should I ask what prompted that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Connor rested his head on Nines’s shoulder. He lifted the other’s hand, black chassis bare, and kissed it. “I just love you.”

They may have looked similar, but Connor loved each and every one of their differences.

* * *

Published: 12/11/20

A/N: As always thanks to everyone for all the kudos, and a special thanks to **Conanbean** for leaving a comment on the previous chapter! <3


	5. The Structure in His Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A machine has a preset structure: mission objectives, procedures, tasks, and set rules. Structure was was. A deviant had to find their own structure, and having none left a person rather cold and aimless. 
> 
> RK900 may have had a preset structure in his designated life period, but Nines had to find his own structure in his life for himself. Thankfully, he was quick to find his in Connor. With Connor's, he is never without purpose and never lacking in warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Words: 1,115
> 
> Prompts: 10) Structure, 11) Warmth 
> 
> Notes: Some of the headcanons I have in here tie in with Chapter 1 (Prompts: Meeting, Secret). I referenced there that Con and Nines meet up on his lunch break to talk and catch up. Let’s pretend they still do that even though here, they live together. While I may use similar headcanons for most of the prompts for these prompts, there may come continuity things here or there.

When he was found, Nines’s purpose—more specifically, RK900’s purpose—had been null and void.

He had originally been tasked with replacing the RK800 known as Connor. Replace him as he was deemed an inferior model. That all changed when he actually met Connor in person.

Connor had been there with Jericho when Nines was found. While the other deviants had been incredibly wary of the RK900, Connor had spoken to him with a gentleness that had confused the successor. Connor had told informed him of everything that had happened, which only confused him even more.

Nines had been left objectiveless. Aimless. Without a purpose.

He had possessed no structure in his life.

That led him to following Connor to Jericho. This had caused large waves of displeasure and discomfort among the deviants that resided there, uncomfortable with the fact that the replacement of the Deviant Hunter lived among them. RK900 had attempted to be peaceful with the deviants. He had done his best to offer program-suggested input in conversations, sit in on classes offered at Jericho, and help with maintenance around the area. Some had appreciated his help, while others had thought he was faking everything, waiting to kill them all. One person had decided to act on their thoughts. After one incident of that person attacking RK900—unsuccessfully as the RK was military-grade and the attacker had no real physical prowess—Connor had been horrified and had decided that he should live with him.

RK900 had followed without hesitation. As the objective of his then null mission, he had always taken a…fascination with his predecessor. What could have made RK800 so special to others? He had not understood it. As procedure dedicated, he had simply kept RK800 in his sights and observed his actions to gather more data. He had watched how his predecessor behaved: a fascination with animals, a curiosity with human events such as holidays, and a kindness towards others that made RK900 want to know him better. Know what made him tick, what he liked, what he disliked, what made him scared, what made him joyful, and more—all for research purposes, he had concluded.

And then Connor had gotten injured enough at work to warrant a week-long stay in the hospital.

And then RK900 had deviated.

And then RK900, Nines, had _really_ found himself metaphorically flailing from the lack of structure. He had no orders, had no mission objective—could not rely on previous coding to give him purpose like he could when he was a machine. Nines was a deviant, and a fresh one at that. Emotions had been (still are) overwhelming and he had not understood them. Was Connor going to be okay? Was Nines going to be living alone after all of that? Connor’s coworkers had tried to offer him comfort as the technician had been operating on Connor, but Nines had been all manners of worked up. Conversations had been hard as he could not rely on his (subpar) social relations program. Waiting had been difficult. Worrying had been difficult.

Every day had been just…difficult.

Every day had felt cold.

He was not a human and could not feel temperature in the same way humans did, but that had been the best way he could describe how he had felt at the time. Cold. It frightened him. Feeling such fear as he had had only made it that much worse. He had to stay with the Lieutenant in the days waiting for Connor to be well enough to go home as he was not able to stay in Connor’s apartment alone.

That week, against all logic, had seemed to span triple that length of time.

Once Connor had been able to go home, the cold had disappeared from Nines’s life. Connor’s apartment had felt warmer with him in it. Still a fresh deviant, Nines had decided to bond with Connor, truly. Before, he had been observing from an almost clinical standpoint. A machine studying its predecessor. From that point on, the feeling of aimlessness had disappeared from Nines’s life. He and Connor had done activities together: had went to the park, played with Sumo when they visited Hank, searched for hobbies to take up, and had simply just talked.

Suddenly, structure had returned to Nines’s life.

After that, he was comfortable making decisions for himself, for the most part. Markus had introduced him to art back when he had first been taken to Jericho, and Nines, as a deviant, wanted to find out if he liked it. He tried out different classes at a local community center—painting, drawing, paper crafts, and sculpture. The sculpture class mostly focused on clay, but once they began on wire sculptures, Nines found his specialty. It was tough to work with if the wire was thick, yet also required a delicate touch for the wires that were comparable to the size of thin spaghetti. 

He continued going to the community center once a week, now specifically for the metal-focused class. He even made two friends. He picked up a few more hobbies here and there, he made it a point to try his best and talk with his friends, and he began to explore different parts of the city.

He was building a _life_ for himself.

Whenever he felt stressed or confused, he was able to go to Connor. He never made him feel ashamed of his feelings, always welcomed his questions and concerns. Whenever he felt happy, he could go to Connor. He could talk to him for three hours about the differences between iron and copper when as sculpture materials, or the pros and cons of coated wire versus noncoated. While knowing nothing about sculpting or creating art, Connor took it all in like a sponge and encouraged Nines to tell him more.

It made Nines feel warm to have someone to talk to like this. In turn, Connor opened up a lot about what interested him. Dogs held a particular fondness to him, but he was fascinated by many kinds of creatures. Fish captivated him. He told Nines about his first mission and how he saved the fish from dying on the floor of the hallway. To Nines’s bafflement, he appeared to be embarrassed of all things in admitting that he wanted some fish ever since the end of the revolution. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, and in saying so, Connor ended up burying his face into Nines neck. The taller android tucked him against his chest, brushing a hand over the short hairs at the back of his head.

It was warm.

Connor equaled structure and warmth.

Nines would always offer the same.

* * *

Published: 12/18/20

A/N 1: Thank you to **CionAltima** for commenting on the last chapter! And again, thank you to everyone for the kudos so far!

A/N 2: Catch me on[ **twitter** ](https://twitter.com/el_rey_ciervo)or [**tumblr**](https://elreyciervo.tumblr.com/) if you wanna chat!


	6. The Phantoms Snow Brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is snowing in Detroit and it brings up some unpleasant memories for Connor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Words: 1,767
> 
> Warnings: PTSD symptoms that Connor experiences surrounding cold and snow, references for past loss of body autonomy
> 
> Prompts: 15) Snow

Detroit was beautiful.

Winter in Detroit, even more so.

This was Connor’s first time to truly observe what the season was about. Before November, he had been incredibly focused on his mission as the Deviant Hunter. While he had been slowly drawing away from that as his mission progressed, it had still been his primary objective. He had seen snow and been in the cold, but he had not paid it any attention and treated it as a simple occurrence. A machine had no need to take in the weather for more than it was.

But, that was then and this was now. It was the middle of December, and Connor was a deviant with free will of his own. Now, he was able to take in what winter had to offer more than face value.

Sitting in front of one of the windows in the living room of his apartment, he was wrapped up in a thick hand-knitted blanket that had been gifted to him Mrs. Collins, Ben’s wife. He clutched it tightly as he gazed out the window. It was late in the evening, the hour encroaching into night. Most people were already home, from what he could see, the warm yellow glows from their windows indicating them inside. Some people were out on the street, most likely getting their last-minute holiday shopping done. Christmas was coming soon. From his fourth-floor apartment, the people going to and fro could likened to small, black ants. If he focused enough with his preconstruction program, he could calculate their most likely destinations: one woman would most likely walk to the bus stop from the way she has her body turned, one man had a high chance of stopping at the bench outside the department store, and another woman’s most likely destination would most be the corner store from how she was power-walking in that direction.

The roads were clear from the majority of snow, having been freshly salted not even a full hour ago. There was, however, a light dusting on them from the snow falling currently that was able to stick; powdered sugar snow on the asphalt and concrete. The rooftops and patches of grass, on the other hand, were tall and thick with at least a foot of snow packed atop them. It had been snowing straight for the past several hours. The amount of snow outside muffled all noise, and if he focused and pressed his ear against the cold glass, he knew he would be able to hear the true silence. A quiet such as that was peaceful, that much he knew for certain.

Fresh whiteness reflected all the lights. The streetlights glowed with an aura that was not possible in other kinds of precipitation, orange and orange-yellow halos encircling each streetlamp. Different spectrums of light bounced off the reflective whiteness of the snow, making even the night seem brighter than it normally would.

It was quiet.

It was peaceful.

It was beautiful, that much was true.

_But only from the inside._

He watched the man on the bench furiously rub his arms to get warm, even despite his coat. As he did so, a chilled shudder passed through Connor’s body. He clutched the blanket around himself tighter. He…he did not like the cold. In fact, he could comfortably say that he _despised_ the cold.

Despite the warmth of the living room, another chill passed through him, this time more intense than the last. Images and sensations trickled to the forefront of his perception. Between one blink of an optic and the next, phantom hands of ice held onto his body, their grips tight and deadly. A blizzard roared in his ears and whipped in front of his optics. The vegetation around him was buried under heaps of snow and the little bit that could be seen clawing out of it was darkened and dead. The stone was in front of him. He reached out, desperate to get to the back door, desperate to get out of the raging storm.

The storm howled even louder.

His visuals dropped near zero.

It was all white and cold and ice and _he was going to deactivate here alone and be erased and—_

Something touched his shoulder.

He blinked, then blinked again hard. There was no snow around him, only what was outside. The air was still, the cold was absent. There was an ache in his hands that began to make itself known, and he looked down to see them clutching his blanket in a death grip. When he went to open them, it took great effort to do so, but this time from stress and not from the freezing cold. He blinked again. The blues and grays and whites of the garden in the blizzard shifted to the warm browns, yellows and whites of the apartment.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly, making him jolt a little. He forgot it was there. It took longer than what comfort would dictate to realize there was someone speaking to him. “Connor?”

He knew that voice.

“…Eights, are you with me?”

Connor sucked in a breath, the exhale of it a fragile, shaky thing. “N-Nines…Nines, yes. Yes, I am here.” The living room was warm. There was no snow on him or around him.

He turned to face Nines, whose face was directed at him with full concern. Connor hated being the cause of such a pinched expression to rest on his face. “I had asked if you wanted to watch a movie in the bedroom. I called your name several times, but you never answered. When I came in here to ask you again, you never responded…That is quite unlike you, Connor.” Hand still on his shoulder, he moved to sit next to him in front of the window in the little nook. “Are you alright?”

Automatically, Connor’s response was, “Of course I am alright,” but not a second later, he shook his head and wrung his hands in the blanket. “But…alright can be relative, now can it?”

“It can.” Nines tugged a little on the edge of the blanket, and Connor took that as a signal to open it up to him. The other scooted closer to him, and when his body was flush against his, Connor closed it around them both. Under the cover of the blanket, a hand was offered to him and he accepted it with a silent thanks.

They were silent for a while. Nines did not rush him. Although the snow and cold lived outside of the apartment, on the other side of the glass that was so close to their bodies, it felt like the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat. Lodged and tight as if a busted line of thirium had frozen in his mouth and throat. The desire to explain why he was like this was almost non-existent, but the _need_ to do so left the wires around his stomach biocomponent itching.

If he did not do it now, he did not think he would ever muster up the scant amount of courage to do so again.

“My Zen Garden,” he began quietly, “…it…I did not always have full control of it.”

Nines squeezed his hand when it started shaking, brushing his thumb over Connor’s knuckles. He made a noise that he was listening.

Connor continued, “You are aware of what Amanda could do, correct?”

“Of course.”

“Well, when I was on that stage when Markus was speaking, I… I did not have control of my body.” Phantom chills bit into him. He pressed himself closer into Nines. “My Garden…it was freezing in there. A blizzard was howling. The wind and cold was awful—I never thought I could feel them like that. Amanda was right there in the middle of it. She…she told me she was d-disappointed in me for choosing the route I had. Disappointed, but not unexpected. It…hurt. It hurt.”

Nines waited for hi m to finish. “She was your guidance,” he said, not asked. “For her to say that to you, of course it would hurt. I am sorry.”

It made him feel better for him to hear that, but Nines had nothing to apologize for. Never. “She would have had me freeze in my Zen Garden. I would have been… _erased_ from the inside out—would have shot Markus. I was able to find Kamski’s backdoor, but I came to with a gun in my hands trained on Markus.” He shivered hard. Rather than making eye contact with Nines, his gaze was trained on a section of the blanket that was covering the two of them, a little too lost in his thoughts. The phantom of the blizzard had yet to fully release its grip on him. “I-I hate the cold.”

His boyfriend pulled him closer into an embrace, using his frame and the blanket to essentially hide Connor away from everything around them. Soon he was squished against him, positioned on Nines’s lap. They were then chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other, and his face tucked into Nines’s neck. He felt a kiss being pressed against his head. “Thank you for telling me all that,” Nines said. “You did not have to, but you did so anyway. Thank you for trusting me with this.”  
Connor felt Nines’s hands tighten around him as Nines added, “Another reason to hate Cyber Life. Not only would they have _used_ you do something terrible against your will, but they would have snuffed you from this world. I,” there was something akin to trepidation in his voice that made Connor’s pump ache, “…I would have never got to know you if they succeeded.”

‘ _I would have never got to love you_ ’ was left unsaid.

Connor raised his head from resting against Nines’s neck to kiss him. One hand gently laid on the other’s chest as their lips met. It was only a few seconds long, brief, but comforting all the same.

They parted. They watched the snow continue to fall outside, but with Nines right next to him constantly grounding him, it was easier not to get lost in his memories and the phantom sensations they brought with them. As much as he hated the cold, Detroit was truly beautiful in the winter.

“Let us make new memories of the snow and cold, hm?”

An interface opening and a loving boyfriend next to him. Maybe as his life continued, the snow and cold would not become so bad anymore if he had Nines with him to help.

“Yes, I want that.”

* * *

Published: 1/24/21

A/N: Thank you to all the kudos and bookmarks thus far, and a special thanks to **CionAltima** for leaving a comment in the last chapter! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Finally done with this one! I had started this on my phone last month, but was only able to finish it now. Obviously, I won’t be able to get all 31 prompts done, but I’m doing what I can. For this prompt, I headcanon that Connor has PTSD, especially surrounding cold. Having bodily autonomy taken away from you and almost being trapped and erased in the place that is essentially your inner mind would tend to do that to someone.
> 
> EDIT (2/5/21): I forgot to mention, this is the last chapter of the fic. I thought I was going to add more, but decided to end it here. Thanks for reading!


End file.
